


Condition: Grounded

by hollo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Angst, Aviation, Aviators, Building Relationship, Drama, Flying, Happy Ending, I swear, Injury, M/M, Physical Therapy, Rehabilitation, Soul-Searching, Trauma, experimental aircraft, klance, loss of meaning, pilot, test pilot, test pilot au, that thing where it's obvious but it's also a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7845208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollo/pseuds/hollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possibly no one was more surprised than Lance when the announcement came that he and Keith Kogane would be the initial test pilots for the newest generation of jet fighter.<br/>It had taken years of dedication, hard work and sacrifice for him to be considered for the position, but it had been worth it. Everything had been worth it in that moment.<br/>And nothing was going to take it away from him.</p>
<p>-Lance POV, Test Pilot AU-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Soul In Tension

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, I’ve taken A LOT OF LIBERTIES with this - I’ve attempted to meld existing US Air Force regulations/requirements with the idea behind the Galaxy Garrison and a pinch of suspension of disbelief. Please excuse me my crimes against aviation reality. I am not a pilot, aviator, or involved with the air force or military in any way shape or form. For that I'm pretty sorry because I'm sure it would be much more awesome if I was.
> 
> Everyone is older than in the show and they’re all awesome. Pidge is a genius (wow that’s a surprise). I’m not listing ranks because I tried to make sense of them and promptly got lost in rank comparisons across military forces.
> 
> Keith - 24 Experimental Test Pilot  
> Lance - 24 Experimental Test Pilot  
> Hunk - 24 Flight Test Engineer, Masters in Aerospace and Mechanical Engineering  
> Pidge - 20 Flight Test Engineer Triple Masters in Math, Aerospace Engineering and Physics with degree in Computer Science  
> Allura - Major, in charge of several projects including the one they are working on  
> Shiro - Advisor to the project, former test pilot

Take off was particularly smooth, the acceleration pushing him back into his seat with a comfortable familiarity. He could feel the earth peeling away under him as the jet’s tires left the runway, the giddy rush of adrenaline filling him as he finally became airborne. The sky opened up before him, nearly cloudless except for several wisps of horse-tailed cirrus hanging overhead and the ruddy-yellow disc of the sun far to his right. Below the empty expanse of Californian desert stretched, dusty and sand colored and nicked with small hills and shallow crevasses, towards a horizon made crooked by the peaks of mountains further north.. If he looked back he’d be able to see the command tower, the painted runway lines stretching alongside it and the hangars further behind.

Lance wasn’t one to look back. Especially not with the great forever painted in vivid blue before him, beckoning him. He pulled back on the control stick, angling the jet’s nose further up, climbing steeply. For a moment it seemed to him as if the plane tilted slightly left, just before the initial ascent. The attitude indicator didn’t show anything out of the ordinary, and he glanced out the windows to confirm his bearings. Continuing his ascent as planned, he paid particular attention to the VSI.

“How’s she feel so far?” Pidge’s voice came over his com unit, sounding just a touch wistful. No one had bemoaned the fact that the BR was a single seater with greater fervor than the engineer. Lance grinned, pushing the jet a touch harder, feeling the increase in speed as he continued the climb. 

“D’you know that feeling when you’ve just won five grand at roulette, shared several of the best bottles in the house with everyone at the table and left to head back to your room with a gorgeous lady on each arm?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Well let me explain it to you-”

“Keep it PG please. This is all going down in the transcripts.” Major Allura interjected, though her officious tone held an undercurrent of amusement. 

“Aye-aye cap’n.” Lance affirmed cheekily, and added in a sigh. “She flies like a dream.”

“Excellent.” Pidge said cheerfully. “Specs? How are the readings? Acceleration? We’re using a new sensor array for the VSI, seeing any lag there?”

Lance rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to sigh, and began rattling off his initial observations. It was a tedious process he despised, but a necessary part of his job. He avoided mentioning the leftward list, still unsure if it had anything to do with the plane’s system or whether it was merely his own perceptions

“Passing eighteen thousand.” Lance noted, about forty seconds into his climb. He wasn’t pushing the craft hard at all just yet, letting it gain altitude slowly but steadily. He’d taken the jet out for several low-altitude flights in the weeks leading up to that day’s test flight, but that was more to get a bearing for the craft rather than to test its abilities. Flight simulations could only do so much to get a pilot ready for the real thing, and if he was going to be honest, he was just shy of horrendous in simulations. It was a good thing he could redeem himself when it came to real flights - in an actual jet, in the actual air with the ground far below and the open sky above him, that was where his real talents shone.

“Thirty-six, leveling out.“ Lance eased the craft out of its climb and brought the jet to level at thirty-six thousand feet on the dot. No list to the left this time, and glancing to the sides he could confirm that he was holding level. So far so good. “Holding at thirty-six AGL.”

“Confirmed.” Pidge acknowledged. There was a short pause before she continued, “All right, let’s see how fast this bird can fly. Engage afterburners”

_ This _ was what the test flight was all about. Lance grinned almost ferally as he flipped the correct switch.

“Engaging afterburners in three… two… one.” He pressed the final button, and the jet sprang - it couldn’t be said  _ into life,  _ because it was alive before, tons of non-metal alloy and miracles of engineering within a sleek design and sparking with energy thousands of feet above ground - sprang into  _ wakefulness _ , the afterburners giving it a burst of speed that set the world blurring beneath him, the wisps of clouds streaking by in half a breath. Lance choked back an energetic shout that would’ve been peppered with curses -  _ transcripts _ \- and settled for screaming internally instead. Nothing matched the thrill of accelerating to Mach 2.2 in the span of a forty seconds, absolutely  _ nothing. _

After a second he tore himself away from the thought that he might actually be reaching something close to heaven, and reminded himself that he was supposed to be doing more than flying the jet as far as he could as fast as he could. Glancing over the controls he confirmed that he was holding altitude and staying level. Next he checked on the fuel tanks, gauging the levels and calculating the rate they were dropping at. The BR-6’s afterburners had been designed with limited fuel consumption in mind, making it possible to use less fuel to achieve the same amount of additional thrust as a standard afterburner. Theoretically, the afterburners should allow for up to five minutes of continuous thrust while still leaving the jet with enough fuel to make it back to base, or friendly airspace. 

Lance winced, eyeing the dropping fuel levels, and sighed. The afterburners had used up almost two-thirds of what they were supposed to in about a minute and a half. Still better than most jets in active duty but nothing like what they had been expecting based on the computer models.

“Control, turning back to base.” Lance said, easing the stick and banking the plane to the right. It cut a wide swathe in the air, turning on a wingtip almost vertical. The dusty expanse of Mojave came back into view on his right.

“Are these readings right, 5k at two minutes?” Pidge sounded both shocked and irritated. 

“That’s what I’m seeing.” Lance responded. The fuel gauge ticked lower steadily. “I’m cutting the afterburners.”

“All right.” Pidge huffed, sounding disappointed. She was probably hard at work calculating the ratio of burn time versus fuel usage already. Lance didn’t envy her.

Leveling out, Lance cut the afterburners and let the jet ease back into subsonic speeds. He was still holding somewhat steady at 36,000 feet, and despite the disappointing display from the afterburners he found himself quite pleased with the flight. The jet was performing exceptionally well on its first flight out, a fact he attributed first to the Pidge and Hunk’s engineering capabilities and second to his phenomenal piloting skills.

He’d reached a comfortable subsonic cruising speed of about 700 mph when the list came again, a sharp tug to the left that he felt that time, the straps of his harness cutting into his shoulders. This time his instruments reflected it, and he could see the ground tilt sharply outside his cockpit window as the left wing dipped. 

“Left wing just dropped,” He said, bringing the plane back to level with a small amount of difficulty. He couldn’t tell what it was causing the issue, but when he eased off of the stick the dip came again.

“Sensors aren’t showing anything wrong.” Pidge said over the com link. “Are you seeing anything?”

“Other than the AI going diagonal and my wing pointing at the ground?” Lance said, easing the plane back to level once more. 

“Yes other than that.” Pidge responded dryly. 

“Negative.” Lance took a chance to glance back out the window. He couldn’t see all the way back to the tail from his seat but as far as he could tell nothing was wrong on either side of his plane. “Systems are working fine except for this.”  
There was a long moment of silence. Lance had already turned the jet back to base, but was starting to feel a bit antsy with the lack of response from Pidge. She and the Major were no doubt running through scenarios in an attempt to figure out what was wrong, but they could have at least let him know what they were thinking. Unable to stand the lack of communication, he sighed and confirmed,

“I’m bringing it back in.” 

He worked to keep the plane leveled out as he began his descent. The dipping was becoming more pronounced by the moment, but he kept his head on task by humming a tune, allowing muscle memory and his remarkable attention to detail to keep the jet righted. He’d dealt with unwieldy, temperamental aircraft before, test pilot and all, and he would deal with this one as well. 

“Is it still dipping?”

“Affirmative.”

“Can you control it? Is it getting worse?”

“Double-affirmative.”

“Be careful, don’t forget to compensate for the tilt.” Pidge said, equal parts frustrated and concerned. Lance gasped in mock offense,

“I’m sorry, are  _ you _ trying to tell  _ me _ , an awarded, skilled and practiced pilot with several years of flying under his belt, how to land a plane?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking to the Red Baron.” 

“Eric Winkle Brown.” Lance said with a hint of haughtiness.

“The guy who invented balsa wood gliders.” Pidge retorted.

“Stop goading me, I’m trying to  _ concentrate _ .” Lance frowned.

“Try to keep the plane in one piece.” Pidge sounded snippish. There was a long pause before she added, sounding somewhat chagrined, “ _ Yourself _ . Try to keep yourself in one piece. And the plane.”

Lance would have rolled his eyes, he could almost see Major Allura standing behind the sandy-haired engineer, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but he was too busy concentrating on keeping the horizon level while the BR attempted to roll out of his control. It wasn't quite as bad as it could have been, admittedly. Nothing like the rehauled, ancient F-16 he'd had to practice on during his flight school days that decided to barrel roll it's way all the way down to the tarmac and give him his first taste of the ejection seat. 

Still, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the wheels touched the hard pavement of the runway and unclenched a white knuckled hand from the control stick. Maybe it said something that he'd compared this descent with one that had been nearly catastrophic, maybe things felt just a little too familiar, but this time he got the plane back to base -  _ in one piece _ he'd be sure to specify to Pidge. All in all, not bad for a first flight. 

  
  


-

 

The BR-6 was the latest in the eighth generation fighter jets being produced by Lockheed-Martin in conjunction with the Garrison. Several seventh generation craft were finishing final testing with larger crews at the same base, but the Alpha testing phase for the BR-6 was opened for only two pilots. Possibly no one was more surprised than Lance when the announcement came that he and Keith Kogane would be the initial test pilots for the craft. 

It had taken years of dedication, hard work and sacrifice for him to be considered for the position, but it had been worth it.  _ Everything _ had been worth it in that moment. And nothing was going to take it away from him.

 

-

 

The Garrison’s official regulations in regards to fitness for pilots and flight crews were open ended - allowing the various crew members to engage in whatever activities were necessary to keep themselves fit and prepared for duty. It was a bit of a change from the flight school, where forced marches, sparring matches, and active exercise was part of the daily routine. After two years at the Garrison, left to their own devices when it came to fitness, they’d found something of a rhythm; meeting three times a week in the gym, as their schedules allowed, and engaging in whatever struck their fancy that day.

_ They _ being Lance and Keith, the only members of the BR tenth generation fighter jet test program whose requirements specified physical fitness. Well, regulations stated that the flight engineers were required as well, but with the amount of work Pidge and Hunk and their teams had to do in regards to getting the BR systems working optimally as soon as possible, the garrison was willing to let them slide with the bare minimum.

It wasn't the worst thing, training without them, as Hunk could outdistance anyone on the track and what Pidge lacked in strength she made up for in sheer feral viciousness (Lance had endured bruised ribs more often than he would’ve liked from them). While Lance loved them both he also hated losing to them something awful. Fighting, sometimes literally, his way to the top three of his flight class had left him with a nearly obsessive need to prove himself in everything he did, and despite now being one of the top test pilots at the Garrison he still couldn't shake the feeling that all it would take was one slip up for him to lose it all.

His conscious mind doubted that something as trivial as losing to Hunk in a footrace would do it, but his subconscious had its own ideas.

Some of those ideas managed to stay within the realm of competitive, which was why he was currently attempting to kick Keith’s ass in hand to hand combat in the gym.

Some of those subconscious ideas were of an entirely different sort, most often in Keith’s presence, which was why thinking of Keith’s ass was putting him off his game and leaving him flailing his punches and floundering his holds. 

Keith pulling back his non-regulation length hair into a ponytail, his bangs still falling haphazardly into his face despite the effort, should not have gotten his pulse racing, and there was no way Keith’s stretches before their sparring match were anywhere near the vicinity of x-rated, not with him wearing a loose black tee and long workout pants, but Lance’s subconscious was reminding him of everything that fabric covered and it was a struggle to keep focused.

The fault was entirely with the flight school and the communal showers where he'd had a full three years to secretively gawk at the person who was now his partner on the BR program. Firmly stamping down whatever unnecessary feelings were trying to make themselves known, he focused instead on his hand to hand skills and hoped, desperately, that this time he wouldn’t spend most of the sparring matches on the mats.

“What do you think the problem is?” Keith asked in the midst of it all, neatly sweeping Lance off his feet so he fell on his ass. 

“I don't know Keith! I'm not an engineer.” Lance huffed, frustrated and growing all the more disenchanted with that day's training. His hopes of not spending their entire time in the gym on the mats were growing frightfully dim, and grumpily he wondered why he’d even entertained the thought in the first place. Keith always won their sparring matches, and though Lance knew the other man been top of their class in hand to hand combat, it still left his poor ego bruised. They didn't even  _ need _ to spar, but Keith wanted to and Lance had a hard time saying no. Pushing himself up onto his elbows he added, “Hunk thinks it's something with the gyroscope.”

“What does the gyroscope have to do with the steering system?” Keith frowned, holding a hand out to Lance. Lance briefly considered slapping it away, but after a grumbling moment of indecision he grabbed it and let the other man help him to his feet.

“Assisted auto-leveling?” Lance suggested, though the words tasted bad on his tongue.

Keith shuddered visibly.

“They better not be trying that again.” Keith said, getting back into stance, looking a little more fierce than usual.

“Why, what would you do if they did? Quit flying in protest?” Lance laughed, though he shared Keith’s distaste. Auto-Leveling was new enough that the kinks were still being worked out. Even in theory, however, the general consensus among pilots was that it belonged in unmanned craft and missiles, not jets piloted by humans who needed to make split-second decisions without the hassle of fighting the planes own systems on top of it.

“I might.” Keith answered with such bitter vehemence that Lance almost believed him. 

They went another few rounds, and though it would seem they were evenly matched Lance knew better - he was decent at hand to hand but he wasn't usually good enough to go head to head with Keith as evenly as they were that day. He was landing hits Keith had easily dodged before, and though Keith was still pinning him or knocking him off his feet more often than not, Lance had the distinct impression that he was holding back. 

It was grating on his nerves, and it didn't help matters that Keith seemed to enjoy pinning him in a half nelson literally all the time, the most basic of holds  _ ever _ and one that Lance for some reason had never mastered the knack of getting out of. Well, it wasn't that Lance didn't enjoy the half nelson in some sort of quiet and in the back of his mind sort of way, face down against the mats with Keith’s weight angled on top of him...  _ but it was getting to be a bit ridiculous _ . Or maybe it just felt that way. Either way, the frustration of  _ knowing _ Keith was going easy on him coupled with frustration of an entirely different sort (the sort that was in no way helped by Keith pinning him to the ground with his weight half on top of him, no way helped by that secretive grin Keith shot him as he helped him back up, face flushed, because  _ Keith knew exactly what he was doing _ ) boiled over about the time when Keith let him execute a decent take-down and ended up on the mats himself, Lance standing over him.

“Good one.” Keith said with a grin as he sat up, barely out of breath. Lance glared at him.

“Shut up.” He snapped, and Keith’s expression turned puzzled. Lance glared down at him and asked, “Why are you going easy on me today?”

“I'm… not?” Keith got up to his feet and flicked his bangs out of his eyes. He was the model of innocence as he looked at Lance.

“Bull shit.” Lance huffed, arms on his hips. Keith rolled his eyes, stretching an arm across his chest.

“Maybe you're just getting better, ever think of that.” he said, fixing Lance with a look of utter patience.

Keith was right, of course. He _might have been_ _getting better_ , it was bound to happen after years of practice sparring, wasn't it? Lance knew he was making sense, just like he knew it wasn't the sparring that was setting him on edge that day. 

He chanced a look at Keith and regretted it immediately. The other man wasn't looking at him but over at the other side of the gym where a group was getting into a heated discussion, idly stretching his arms over his head in a way that lifted his shirt a few inches to expose a thin strip of skin above his waistband. Lance inhaled somewhat shakily, forcing his gaze somewhere else, and landed on Keith’s face, which did the exact opposite of helping matters. His bangs had fallen back in his eyes, deep, dark eyes that were narrowed now as he watched the growing argument on the other side of the gym. His face was exquisite in a way that made Lance want to punch it, hard, except not, except that it made him want to do something else, possibly just as hard.

His heart was fluttering, which only pissed him off more, and it was taking every ounce of self control to keep from reaching over and brushing Keith’s stupid bangs out of his stupid eyes and…

Lance tore his gaze away and focused at the mats beneath his feet and forced himself to breath. He felt sweaty and gross, overheated, shaky with adrenaline. 

“Come on, let's go again” Keith said from somewhere close by, his hand resting on Lance’s shoulder. His touch burned, and Lance shrugged out from under it.

“No.” He said with a grim resolution he didn't feel. He didn’t want to stop...

“Lance…”

“I can't deal with you right now.”

It was a horrible choice of words but it was the best he could do, given the situation. He wiped his forehead with his shirt before looking at Keith. There was something like disappointment on the other man's face, a frown that was just a touch different from his regular one, just a shade more personal.

“I wasn't going easy on you,” Keith said quietly, somewhat desperately, hand hovering not quite at his side but not quite reaching out to Lance either. The argument on the other side of the gym was growing louder. 

Lance wanted to say “I know” but it came out as a surly, clipped, “Sure.” 

Keith's hand fell back to his side finally, but Lance couldn't relax. Running a hand through his hair, he gave Keith a pained grin.

“I'll catch you later.”.

“Yeah,” Keith responded, his eyes meeting Lance’s for a second. Keith's face might've been impassive most of the time, but his eyes spoke volumes of you knew how to read them.

Lance knew how to read them, and he knew exactly what they were asking of him. He tore his gaze away, and left.

 

-

 

The whole mess had been Keith’s fault, really.

No, scratch that, it was  _ his  _ fault.

No, scratch  _ that _ , it was both of their faults.

 

New Year's Eve a year and a half earlier. A group of pilots and engineers had gotten together for a bash at a restaurant on the shore of Lake Arrowhead. Drinks flowed, the chatter and banter was cheerful and relaxed. Lance had been particularly relaxed and extremely happy, having been given his assignment to the BR-6 project earlier that week, and he had been making the most of the holiday off, chatting and flirting and keeping the populace entertained as best he could. It wasn’t really that he wanted to be the certain of attention, but rather that he craved the feeling that he was being recognized, noticed, remembered. That night was fulfilling all of his needs in spades, he was practically floating on a cloud of attention.

He had vague memories of starting a dance off with Hunk to decades old tunes playing on the rickety jukebox, of Pidge winning at arm-wrestling men and women half-again their size and sneaking drinks from Lance when no one was looking. He remembered the volleyball game decently well, impromptu and net-less (unless a string of lights hanging between two tall tiki torches counted as a net) and winnerless too once the chill of the night set in and they all headed back inside for another round of beers.

He remembered Kieth most of all - at first somewhat distant and reserved, chatting easily but looking lost in the crowd, then slowly warming up to the atmosphere, laughing with the others during the ridiculous dance off, taking lead during the volleyball game, being the only person Pidge couldn’t arm wrestle successfully (it always ended in a draw). 

Keith, shooting him looks across the room, furtive glances that turned into deep, soulful looks as the night went on.

Keith, following him out to the docks after midnight had come and gone and the others had settled into a round of songs and Lance had just wanted to enjoy the quiet breath of a new year. 

Keith sitting down next to him and looking up at the stars as Lance rambled about spaceships and manned flights to mars and distant star systems. Keith putting his hand on his and setting his skin on fire. 

Keith kissing him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they did it every day, all the time, like this was what they were meant to do forever.

And it would have stayed Keith’s fault, only Lance remembered kissing him back, deep and real with his fingers in Keith’s non-regulation length hair and his tongue down his throat, remembered kissing him like he was his last lifeline, his last chance, his last hope. Remembered feeling like it was just them, daring and bright and endless, nothing else but this perfect attraction pulling them together.

And he remembered pulling back, breathless, as reality came bursting in and the weight of realization fell heavy around his shoulders. Remembered how the happiness in Keith’s eyes had lasted all of ten seconds, until he opened his mouth and said,

“I can’t do this.”   


Lance remembered walking away.


	2. On A Wing and A Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made some minor changes to Chapter one (Pidge's pronouns, the BR-6's jet generation) nothing too big.  
> Whelp, this chapter was ~fun~ I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.   
> Work has been super stressful so whenever I get too overwhelmed I look up information about fighter jets. I mean, I don't know a thing about fighter jets but its good reading.
> 
> If you like you can find me at itsdetachable.tumblr.com

His first solo flight nearly broken him. The adrenaline that had raced through his veins on take off receded to a dull twitch as he rose higher, the last dregs slurring their way through his system as he levelled out at a mediocre eighteen thousand feet, leaving him floundering to grasp at some remnants of excitement. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel, this shakiness in his body and this hitch in his breath, this hadn't been what he'd imagined. 

He was in the air, alone, nothing but him and the plane and the wind outside and the clouds billowing around him. They weren't threatening, but they were there, bulky and distressingly large around him, him a mere speck among their pale forms. He couldn't see the ground, he couldn't see the sky. He couldn't see anything but a roiling mass of greyish white around him, forming and breaking down and reforming into shapes that his brain couldn't process.

Was he lost? Was he uncertain? Was he  _ scared _ ? He couldn't tell. There was a moment where he half-turned back, a twitch, towards the seat behind him before he remembered he was alone, no instructor. Alone. 

_ Alone _ .

The T-38A he flew was an absolutely ancient model, older even than the F-16’s the higher level trainees flew, but it handled well in the air. It was stable, it was nimble, and he knew it's controls and it's abilities better than his own. Still his hands sweated in their gloves, his grip on the centre stick alternating between too loose and too tight.

He was flying.

Breath ragged, jaw clenched, he reminded himself that  _ this was what he wanted _ . And he had wanted it, so badly and so deeply that for so long nothing else existed. Now he was there, tens of thousands of feet above the ground, with open sky around him, and yet he still felt oppressed. Still felt contained. This should have been a moment of freedom but faced with the possibility of a future that was no longer daydreams, but tangible and in his hands, his felt himself falter. He felt himself  _ doubt _ .

And then the clouds parted before him, and through the breach the sun shone golden and lovely and beckoning. An impossible feeling surged up within him as the rippling clouds rolled open to reveal an expanse of pure blue, open sky - a feeling like laughter and pain and happiness and terror and all the things that made him up bursting within him in full force, rocketing through his body and lighting his limbs. No sensation could compare to it, to that sudden heady rush, to that sudden dive into  _ being _ , Into  _ existence  _ that came so suddenly. 

He was  _ alive _ , and it was him and the plane and the open sky all around him…

Blinking tears from his eyes he felt his energy surge, and raced into the open skies before him.

Heading back in to land his instructor had commented over the com that his flying was a bit conservative that day.

So he buzzed the control tower.

 

_ Twice. _

 

-

“Just tell me it wasn’t auto levelling.”

“The sponsors were pushing for it-”

“Hunk, tell me it isn’t true-”

“I mean, after the mess with the Kerberos program-”

“UGH.” Lance closed his eyes and raised his hands to the heavens. “Auto levelling would have done nothing to help in that situation.”

“You know that, I know that,” Hunk said, leading the way towards the hangar.

“Everyone knows that!” Lance huffed, following behind, and added under his breath, “Why can’t they leave Shiro alone…”

“Because the initial investigation indicated pilot error,” Hunk responded in a painful tone. Lance shot him a dirty look, and Hunk sighed again, “And the initial investigations were wrong, I know. But that's what everyone heard about first and that's what everyone remembers.”

“Just tell me,” Lance said, sighing heavily, “What’s wrong with my plane?”

“Something with the rudder and the ailerons.” Hunk answered vaguely.

“Something, huh?” Lance eyed him critically. “That’s pretty specific there. Thank you for that excellent description, I feel like I”ve just gained several IQ points.”

“Lance.” His name was a groan coming out of Hunk’s mouth. “What do you want me to say? We didn’t have time to do a full diagnostics, all right? It’s either mechanical or an issue with the software.”

“Great…” Lance grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets, “So when will you get it fixed?”

“Day or two, we have to get Ketih’s model prepped for his flight later today before we can start the diagnostics on yours,” Hunk said, and upon seeing the murderous look on Lance’s face quickly added, “But we'll get to work on it right after. Promise.”

They were nearly at the corner of the hangar when two figures exited the door before them. Major Allura was easy to recognize in her pristine suit, her silvery hair tied back in a standard regulation ponytail. She was tall and willowy, a fact that led many of those serving under her to think her a pushover at first. Nothing could be further from the truth, and though she was a benevolent commander, she was a firm one as well. She was also in charge of of the BR program, along with several smaller scale test programs.

The man next to her was the reason Lance had grabbed Hunk and was dragging him around the corner of the building as soon as he saw them. Commander Zarkon was even taller than the Major, only where she was willowy he was built stout as an oak. He had a severe face with dark, critical eyes and a mouth set constantly in a disapproving snarl, as if nothing in the world had ever obtained his approval, and never would. 

“And you are certain this issue was not pilot error?” He growled. Lance could feel his hackles rise already, his teeth gritting. He knew what was coming; part of him wanted to stay and hear it for himself, part of him wanted to get out of earshot and keep his good mood intact. The curious, masochistic part of himself won, and he plastered himself to the wall as close to the corner as he could, listening intently. 

“We are certain, Commander.” Major Allura responded, calm and controlled. “You have doubts, sir?”

“I’m not going to mince words, Major,” Commander Zarkon’s tone was harsh, “McClain has not always proven reliable. HIs record-”

“I’m aware of his record, Sir.” Major Allura responded coolly. “And I'm aware that most of his infractions were early in his career, and his record during his time as a test pilot at the Garrison has been excellent.”

“For now.” Commander Zarkon said, looking away from Major Allura to watch a jeep drive up. “We all know how he is. If it wasn't for your insistence, and the recommendation from Shirogane, he wouldn't be on this project.”

“He's an excellent pilot-”

“He is a reckless pilot-”

“That can hardly be a detriment in this line of work, sir.” Major Allura had remained cool and official throughout the entire exchange, but an icy tone had begun to edge its way into her words.

“These aren't the 1950’s, Major.” Commander Zarkon said coolly. The approaching jeep pulled up next to them, stopping only a few feet away. “I need skilled pilots, not mavericks. These planes are far too valuable to let a hotshot jock have his way with them.”

He paused, and turned to look the major in the eye.

“If anything at all happens to that plane due to pilot error, McClain is off this project.” Commander Zarkon turned then and headed towards the waiting jeep. “And off the Garrison grounds, if I have any say in it.”

Major Allura allowed herself a brief glare at the Commanders back before following him to the car. Around the corner, Hunk heaved a sigh of relief and peeled himself off of the wall.

“Jeez, Lance. What did you ever do to that guy?” Hunk asked as the jeep sped away.

Lance unclenched his fists, the finger joints feeling stiff as he stretched them, and muttered back,

“Told him that his review of my flying was overly critical and unsubstantiated and that I didn't accept his criticisms as valid.”

The jeep speed off across the tarmac towards the Garrison, and Lance looked back at Hunk. The larger man was looking at him with a distraught expression, one hand clenching in his hair.

“What? It was like, five years ago. I was still in flight school.” Lance forced a cheeky grin. Hunk’s expression didn't change.

“How did you even  _ stay _ in the school after that?” He asked in a strained whisper. They headed around the corner towards the doorway.

“Because I was right?” Lance said, tone harsh with irritation. “I think? I don't know, he laughed at it back then. Said something about appreciating my fervor or something weird like that… How was I supposed to know he'd hold a grudge.”

Hunk looked uncertain as he responded, opening the door, “Does it still count as insubordination if you're in flight school?”

“I say it doesn't,” Lance said. He was maintaining a cheerful tone, but inside he was boiling. The incident may not have been the only time he'd spoken back to the Commander, his mouth had a mind of its own sometimes. If the decision of whether to add him to the program had been one that Zarkon was to make by himself, without the council, Lance was certain he'd never had made it. As it was, he didn't need to be reminded how precarious his position on this project was - he'd barely edged his way in, after all. It was worth it, but only as long as he made sure he was doing everything in his power to stay on the oroejct, and that meant pushing away the negativity, like the Commander’s words, and shouldering on with optimism and purpose. The Commander might’ve been overly critical of his skills, but the Major and Captain Shiro had put their faith in him. That should’ve been enough to quell the doubts that edged into his mind when he slipped up, yet still…

“'Reckless,” He muttered in a mocking tone under his breath as they headed into the hangar. Hunk looked back at him, but he pretended not to see his questioning glance. Speeding up, he left the larger man behind and headed to his plane.

The BR-6 shone in the hangar lights, looking breathtaking. She was a an aesthetically pleasing jet, the eye could roll across her angles and curves effortlessly. She’d been built with stealth and performance in mind, with meticulously designed reverse-swept delta wings and double all-moving horizontal tails. Her twin turbofan engines had a dry thrust of 41,000  _ before _ the afterburners - with afterburners she put out a sweet 51,000. She could supercruise for days without the afterburners (days was an overstatement, but…) Her clean lines incorporated both radar-absorbent materials and specialized shaping, and along with several other measures lowered her radar visibility to the size of a marble. Along with her sibling models, she was the epitome of current technology in terms of fighter jets, the shining example of an all new generation of jets. The technology behind her engines was the first of its kind, and many of the advances incorporated into her build to evade radars and lower her heat signatures were being used for the first time in her design. She was the herald of a new era.

True, she was only a test model, differentiated from Keith’s model only by the blue chevrons painted on her tails (Keith’s had red), but she was built with such an attention to detail and precision that it still blew his mind. She was  _ fantastic _ and just seeing her raised his spirits.

“Morning Gorgeous!” He said as he neared, smiling up at her fondly.

“Morning to you too,” Came a cheeky reply from further in the hangar.

“Shush Pidge, I'm greeting my main lady.” Lance reached up to trail a hand along his jet’s side as he walked towards the nose. He looked over at the other plane, where Pidge had set up her diagnostics cart. She was tapping away at a keyboard, the double screens showing several different program windows, her brows furrowed in concentration. Hunk patted Lance on the shoulder as he passed by, heading towards her.

“Did you get the sensors hooked up yet?” Hunk asked, eyeing the screens.

“Not yet, can you get on that?” Pidge pulled a coil of wires off a shelf on the cart and handed it over to him, and he began to unroll them.

Lance watched them get started, fighting down the twinge of envy that woke at the sight. Keith would be flying that day, and he’d be on the sidelines, waiting for his turn again. Again. His already grated nerves flared at the thought, and he turned away, looked back up at his plane. Not his, not really, barely his to fly even. A machine owned by the air force, just like him in a way.  _ If anything at all happens to that plane due to pilot error _ \- Lance grimaced, letting his hand fall from the jet’s side. Normally, he would’ve joined Pidge and Hunk, either to shoot the breeze or to help out if he could. He wasn’t anywhere near as proficient as them at the technical aspects, but he knew enough to help connect the cables at least - when they let him. But Zarkon’s words echoed in his head - what if he messed something up? What if he got them in trouble? What if he got  _ himself _ in trouble?

He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to mess up connecting cables to the jet’s on-board computers, but he was certain he’d find a way. 

Outside the hangars he could hear the sounds of other jets taking off. Taking advantage of open airspace that late morning, a group of test pilot students were taking several F-22’s out. He’d been one of them once, full of idealistic fantasies about the future, dreams that had seemed almost unachievable at the time.

_ I’m living those dreams _ , he reminded himself, ducking under the BR’s wing and pacing down the length of her towards her tail.  _ This is what I wanted _ .

It should’ve cheered him, that thought, but he still felt irritable, felt unsteady. His skin twinged and his limbs felt shaky. With a sigh, he turned back to where Pidge and Hunk were running through their diagnostics, both hunched over the screens to eye the initial results. Pushing dark thoughts aside, he plastered on a grin and walked over to them.

“So, how’s it going? Almost done?” He asked, peering over Pidge’s shoulder at the graphs being painted by the program. “Ready to start on mine?”

“We just got started  _ here _ .” Pidge huffed, and though he couldn’t see her face he knew she was rolling her eyes at him. Interruptions rankled her, especially while she was working, and Lance knew it. A rankled Pidge was an entertaining Pidge, however, and he’d lie if he said he didn’t go out of his way to bug her.

“Don’t worry, we won’t forget about it,” Hunk said, grinning over at Lance. 

“Of course we won’t, I’m sure someone won’t let us.” Pidge grumbled. Lance punched her shoulder lightly, and she shot him a dirty look. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Well, if you recall, I was scheduled to be flying at this point in time today, but…” Lance motioned over to his jet. Pidge rolled her eyes visibly this time, and sighed.

“A morning off? Must be nice.” She said, though her tone had softened somewhat. She wasn’t a pilot, but he’d found her sympathetic to the plight of  _ not flying when you could be flying _ before.

“Yeah, it’s great. I get to do absolutely nothing, which is awesome. Absolutely.” It was not awesome, his need for stimulation was becoming unbearable. His attention was usually occupied with meetings and courses, test flights and runs in the simulators, but for some reason that morning his tanked test flight had been replaced by absolutely nothing. 

Pidge eyed him critically, then motioned towards the open cockpit. 

“You know, I think one of the cables is loose, can you check it? These readings aren’t looking right.” She said, shooting him a lopsided grin which he graciously accepted as an apology for her earlier caustic tones. For a moment those doubts flickered at the back of his mind, but he quashed them and grinned brightly.

“Sure can,” He said, and climbed the ladder up. The cockpit was setup identical to his, and yet somehow it still felt different. It felt like  _ Keith _ , which made no sense whatsoever, and yet made absolute sense at the same time. Lance frowned, eyeing the cable plugs and ignoring the odd feeling of trespassing that was pinging at the back of his mind. He couldn’t trespass, that was ridiculous. Keith didn’t own the plane. It was the air force’s plane, and being an air force pilot he could sit in it if he wanted to.

One of the plugs was loose, and he pushed it in fully, feeling it click into place. Leaning out of the cockpit, he grinned down at Pidge and Hunk.

“That better?”

“Yup, the readings actually make sense now.” Hunk said. He shared a look with Pidge, a moment where they seemed to be communicating telepathically, then added, “Hey, while you’re up there, can you run through the preflight check?”

“ _ Can _ I?” Lance sat back in the seat and eyed the controls happily. “When do you want me to start?”

“Now’s good.” Pidge called back. Grinning, ignoring the slight tremor at the back of his mind -  _ if anything at all happens _ \- Lance ran through the checklist. It took up a good while; Pidge and Hunk had him repeating several commands, and then had him run through other system checks while he was up there.

“Are you going to tell Keith I was helping you?” Lance asked in what he thought was a nonchalant manner as he climbed down the ladder afterwards.  
“I don’t know, do you want us to?” Pidge looked at him, eyes glinting mischievously. “Or do you _not_ want us to?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Lance leaned back against the ladder, arms crossed. Pidge still had that crooked grin on her face, her plotting grin, which made him somewhat uneasy. He couldn’t see how telling Keith he’d been in his plane could cause him any problems, but the look on Pidge’s face was making him think she'd find a way. “Now I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.”

“Food.” Hunk sighed wistfully. “It’s lunch time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” Lance grinned.

“Chicken Parmigiana.” Hunk went on, “Not my favorite, but decent enough.”

“Ugh, please.” Pidge wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m pretty sure there's not an ounce of real cheese in that. It’s like… cheese flavored elmer’s glue.”

“Still better than the salisbury steak.” Lance said.

“Stop.” Pidge gagged. “I’m gonna hurl.”

“Nothing on the base is acceptable to her taste buds.” Hunk laughed, and Pidge gave him a sour look.

“Nothing on the base is edible, is more like it.” Pidge turned to Lance. “We still have to finish up here. You can go on ahead if you want.”

“Fine.” Lance groaned, pushing away from the ladder. “You know, we never get to hang out anymore.”

“Maybe it’s because we’re making sure your planes are in working order?” Hunk said, the barest hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Barely working order.” Lance amended for him. “My plane tried to roll over without me asking, if you forgot.”

“We’ll fix it.” Hunk said, “Promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Lance asked, holding up a hand. Hunk linked his pinky finger with Lance’s, and confirmed, “Pinky promise."

“Okay, now I’m really going to hurl.” Pidge groaned.

Lance left them to their work, heading out of the hangar and towards the main building compound. 

The mess was located in the main building, a large rectangular area set up with tables and chairs. The kitchen’s daily offerings were at the back wall, set up buffet style and kept steaming on hot plates. Several vendors rotated on breakfast duty, but lunch and dinner was prepared by the in house kitchen. The food wasn’t stellar, but it was acceptable, and more importantly, free. 

Lunch time was relatively busy on the base. There were plenty of personnel who lived off site and only stayed on base during working hours, so while dinners found a limited crowd, lunches were far more bustling. All of that was absolutely fine with Lance, who found the stimulation of a crowd both a relief and a blessing. There were plenty of people he knew, and that meant there were plenty of people he could chat with and engage with, keeping his mind busy and his spirits high. At the same time, there were always faces he didn't recognize, and he'd find himself gravitating toward them more often than. Meeting people he didn't know yet was as good a social high as chatting with those he already knew.

Flirting with them? Even  _ better _ .

“So what do you think?” Lance asked, smiling sweetly and lowering his voice. “You, me, a bottle of Napa’s finest at The Pines? Maybe take a dip in the lake afterwards?”

The redhead he was doing his best to entice grinned shyly, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. She was cute, and somewhat new (he'd only seen her once before), and gorgeous, and Lance had made a beeline directly for her after leaving the lunch line. Her eyes twinkled merrily, and she looked like she was about to reply when-

“I’d skip the dip after.” 

Lance stiffened at the sound of the voice, his smile faltering as a figure stepped up to them. 

“Backne.” Keith said, a small apologetic smile on his face as he looked at the girl. “It’s bad, just thought you should know.”

The girl laughed at that, a nervous half-laugh, as if she couldn’t tell if Keith was joking or not. Lance straightened, putting his couple of inches of height over Keith to use, and shot him a warning look. Keith looked entirely nonplussed.

“I… I should go, my friends are waiting…” The redhead said shyly, and Lance grinned at her, charm on blast again.

“Of course.” He said amiably. “I’ll catch you later?”  
“Yeah.” She smiled at him, then at Keith, and headed off into the crowd.

Lance waited until she was a good ten feet away before rounding on Keith, glaring daggers at him. Keith continued to look unimpressed, raising an eyebrow but otherwise remaining stoic. It only made Lance want to strangle him all the more.

“There’s an empty table back there,” Keith said, motioning towards it with his tray. Lance didn’t spare a glance at it.

“What makes you think I want to sit with you, cockblocker?” Lance growled. Keith rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” He said, starting to head over to the table. Lance released an irritated breath, but hurried up next to him.

“Cut it out,” He hissed as he got close to Keith. Keith’s face remained impassive, he even managed to look a little puzzled. “Don’t give me that look, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t think I do.” Keith said, managing to  _ sound _ puzzled too. Lance wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t feel like engaging in an argument then and there, in a crowded mess hall, especially not on  _ that _ topic. Pushing somewhat roughly past Keith, he headed for an empty table next to the wall and sat down heavily in a chair towards the middle. A few moments later Keith sat down next to him, placing his tray down. 

Pettily - but what was new, maybe he’d never gotten past a high school level of maturity - Lance slid over to the next chair, leaving an empty seat between him and Keith. He expected to hear something from Keith per the usual, some snarky remark, an aggravated sigh, anything - but nothing came. Poking at his plate half-heartedly, he glanced over at the other man. Keith was going through the motions of eating methodically, cutting his chicken breast with precise strokes, following the bite of chicken with potatoes, then the asparagus that was the side for the day. Was it weird that Lance had his style of eating memorized? It was probably weird. It was also probably why, despite Keith’s apparently nonplussed attitude, he could tell something was off. 

Once upon a time he had absolutely no idea how to read Keith, which was no doubt the cause of his unsuccessful, unrequited pining and the loss of several years that might’ve proven to be far more interesting had things gone differently. He had a bit of a grip on it now, was able to read the tension in Keith’s shoulders, the way he was pointedly ignoring Lance’s gaze, the way he was mixing up the order of his food as he ate - he was pissed. No, maybe not. Maybe he was hurt. Lance still got the two mixed up, Keith wasn’t exactly the most emotive person around, not unless he was trying. 

He shouldn’t feel bad about it, Lance told himself. If Keith wanted to be an ass all the time then he should be used to the consequences by now. Lance didn’t get in the way of  _ his _ flirting, did he? Maybe, once, but that was a long time ago. If anything, he  _ encouraged _ it. If Keith couldn’t do the same for him, the least he could do was not get in the way. Besides, it wasn’t like Lance had chewed him out in front of everyone. He didn’t have to feel bad to be the reason Keith was looking so dejected.

Biting his lip, Lance looked down at his plate. The cheese was congealing around the chicken, thick and glossy and looking exactly like elmer’s glue. The silence between them was too much on his frazzled nerves, and despite not feeling responsible for Keith’s sour mood he was desperate to change the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“So, when’s your flight?” He asked without looking away from his plate, prodding the potatoes with his fork.

“Couple of hours.” Keith responded tonelessly. Lance glanced at him again; Keith was almost finished eating, though he had slowed down. He poked at the remains of his asparagus with his fork, sitting somewhat stiffly in his chair. He had his hair down that day, the ends curling gracefully at the nape of his neck; he might’ve cut it, it looked shorter than before. He was still avoiding looking in Lance’s direction.

Sighing, plate still untouched before him, Lance reached into his pants pocket to pull out the corded bracelet that had been revolving between pants pocket and his bedside drawer for days now. Wordlessly, he placed it on the table and slid it over to Keith. It stood out on the pale gray surface of the table, all shades of red and purple and tinted with blue. Keith paused in his feeble attack on the asparagus and eyed it curiously. Lance wasn’t exactly looking straight at him, but he could see the other man’s lips curve in a slight grin. He watched as Keith reached out with his left hand to lift it up, looking it over before turning to look at Lance finally. It should’ve been a crime, the way he made Lance’s heart sputter just by looking happy.

“It’s not my first flight,” Keith said, a hint of amusement in his tone. The smile on his face was the soft kind, the one he wore so rarely. Lance shouldn’t be encouraging it, he’d regret it later, regret this half-leading on he was doing. He always did.

“Yeah, well, I had some time the past week so…” He shrugged, and watched as Keith tied it around his left wrist to join the several others already there. 

“Are you going to come out to watch?” Keith asked after a moment, returning to poking at the remains of his lunch. 

“I don’t know, if I have time I might.” Lance responded. “I have a meeting with Allura in like an hour so, I’ll see.”  
Keith nodded, and Lance poked at his chicken again. He’d lost his appetite somewhere along the way. The thought of watching Keith fly was exciting and offputting at the same time, and he sighed, trying to quell the envy that rose within him. He was never going to grow out of that, was he?

“I gotta go,” Keith said after another long, silent moment, and Lance looked over at him. He was giving Lance an oddly concerned look, like he thought something might be wrong but couldn’t be sure what.

“Yeah well, have fun.” Lance smiled brightly, and was rewarded with another soft grin from Keith. Oh, he was already regretting it, regretting carrying on the stupid tradition he’d started back in flight school when they’d first gotten over being rivals and got to fly together on real, live actual planes. Regretted, and it was horrible, regretted making Keith happy because it was all for reasons that he wanted to avoid. Regretted perpetuating their endless cycle.

And yet it was worth it, because Keith only smiled like that for him, and sometimes Lance was just too far gone to care about the repercussions.

 

-

 

Garrison Regulations were strict on matters of fraternization among the ranks for the most part. The rulebook had at least ten chapters describing proper and improper relationships, from relationships between officers and subordinates to relationships between members of the same flight crew. Excessive, but what was new?

The Garrison’s Test Flight Crew regulations weren’t quite as strict in some ways, however - there were just as many happy hours at local restaurants as there were organized intra-organization activities - but it came down hard on anything that might jeopardize the efficient and proper workings of the test flight crews. That included what the rulebook deemed “inappropriate intimate contact” - something the rulebook “discouraged” among flight crews and team members.

Discouraged, but for someone like Lance, who'd barely clawed his way into a position as a test pilot, it might as well have said “guaranteed dismissal”. That was what it felt like to him. The Commander already had it in for him, and he could only imagine how entertaining his dismissal would be for Zarkon if it was on the grounds of an inappropriate romantic relationship. He’d never live it down - and he’d never be able to forgive himself for losing the one chance he had at achieving his dreams.

But his dreams had always had room for love in them, for a relationship, for growing old with someone who cared for him as much as he cared for them. He’d hoped to find that. What he’d found instead was something that could bring the rest of his dreams crashing down around him if he didn't keep himself in check.

It wasn't that Lance was opposed to the idea of being with Keith, he was rather enchanted by it. For all the bickering that they’d gone through in flight school, their personalities were a surprisingly good match, at least they were once Lance toned down his aggressive taunts and Keith improved on his communication skills. They’d turned into a good team, they’d been able to work with each other, they’d… well, they’d grown close to each other, even before the fatal magnetism of mutual attraction had reared its ugly head. They were  _ good _ together, and Lance knew they could be  _ even better _ because he’d slipped up so many times, so many, and it would’ve been so many more if he hadn’t had the fear of regulations hanging over him. 

Regulations - despite everything, they were what dictated his life and his position, and if he had to give up a (small, he told himself,  _ small _ ) part of his dreams in order to keep the bigger part alive then he would. And he did, quashing his feelings for Keith down whenever they arose, pushing the other man away if he had to, anything to keep himself in control - of his emotions, and of his future.

 

...but sometimes as he was falling asleep, when the darkness was all around him and the drowsiness was just settling into his limbs, he’d find himself entertaining thoughts of  _ what could have been: _

Idiotic dates to arcades on beachfront strips, anniversaries that he was certain Keith would forget but he never would, parties for their birthdays, first apartments. Years of memories, he’d scrapbook the pictures despite Keith’s protests. Then he’d propose, somewhere stupid like the aviation museum or something, get down on one knee and ask Keith to be his wingman. Keith would laugh his adorable snort-laugh, the one Lance hadn’t heard in years now, and they’d have a huge wedding. All their friends would be there, and they’d have a tiered cake with fondant model airplanes on it and Keith would say it was atrocious but he’d make the photographer take five hundred photos of it anyway. Lance would make sure the first dance was to a slow song, and he’d dip Keith at the end and Keith would get that flush across his cheeks and nose like that one time… and they’d kiss and they’d be happy and… they’d be all right…

 

-

 

“36 AGL.” Lance marked, leveling out the jet. She was flying perfectly that day, no tilting, no wobbling. Whatever Hunk and Pidge had done, they’d got her working right. He wasn’t even mad that it had taken a whole day longer than they’d promised, he couldn’t be mad, up there with the sky pristine blue above and the sun shining bright within it.

Sometimes, Lance thought he was a better person up there. Calmer, more real, more whole. He certainly didn’t feel the same when he was on the ground.

Sighing happily, he pushed on the throttle, watching the acceleration indicator blink higher at the top left of the HUD. The jet sped up effortlessly, slicing through the air as she gathered speed. He was back to testing the afterburner that day; Pidge and Hunk had made changes to the programming that should have controlled the amount of fuel used to increase the jet’s speed. The adjustment they’d made had been done before under controlled testing of the engines on the ground, but they wanted to see if it would hold true while in the air as well. 

“You ready?” Pidge’s voice came over his com. 

“Roger.” Lance grinned, readying to flip the switch and fire the afterburners. “Engaging afterburners in 3...2…”

He paused. A red notification was blinking in the middle of the HUD, and his eyes widened.

“Aborting.” He noted, pulling back on the throttle. The red notification didn’t go away, it grew steady instead, and he felt his pulse rise as the words ENGINE 2 OVERHEAT grew larger on screen.

“What’s going on?”

“Engine 2 overheating,” Lance breathed deeply. He could handle this, this wasn’t anything serious. It was nothing drastic, it was manageable. He’d done it before, after all, and more than once. At some point in being a jet pilot, dealing with overheating engines became, if not routine, then at least familiar. Besides, the BR-6 had been designed with a new cooling system for incidents like these.

Reaching over, he flipped a switch to activate the emergency cooling system on engine 2, and something behind him jolted the plane off kilter. He cursed, trying to turn around to look behind him as the plane faltered in the air.

“Blue, what’s your status.” That was Major Allura, cool and collected as always. Lance turned back to face the front of the plane, the red words onscreen glaring brighter as his systems began beeping at him from all sides.

“Activated cooldown, but something’s not right.” His breath was coming heavy, he pulled back on the throttle again. So this wasn’t routine, so he’d had to deal with this differently. Fine. That was fine. He didn’t become a test pilot by being unable to deal with unpredictable situations. He could do this.

He eyed the instruments again; the plane was slowing but the engine wasn’t cooling off. He ran through a mental checklist, trying to match incident records to what he saw before him. There was a way to get through this, he just had to find it...

“What’s wrong?” The Major again. Was that impatience or concern in her voice? He couldn’t tell and didn’t care, what was wrong she asked-

The engine wasn’t cooling off, was what was wrong. His plane was jittering across the sky, off kilter and almost beyond his control to level out, was what was wrong. He had to grit his teeth to keep from saying it; he knew they had system readouts back at the tower. They saw what he saw. They couldn’t feel what he felt, however; the plane jolting and shaking, as if in heavy turbulence, beginning to list to one side more and more with each passing second. The beeping from his monitors was frenetic, and another error popped onscreen the HDU: BLEED AIR LEAK. He cursed between frantic breaths, his brain trying to decide what was worse - the leak or the overheating engine. The leak was probably  _ on _ the overheating engine, the jolt earlier must’ve been a pipe blowing, maybe a pressure gauge busting. That happened, sometimes. Sometimes. He licked his lips, tried to steady his thoughts and think -  _ think _ . He was doing his best to steadily slow the plane down already, hoping that would help keep engine 2 from going into a complete meltdown. It was the best he could do for it right then - but the shaking. The shaking of the plane was what worried him most. He couldn’t get it back on an even course no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t entirely unresponsive, but every move he made to adjust his position, the plane overcompensated for, rocking wildly back and forth.

“Lance, talk to us.” Pidge was back, sounding concerned. He was worrying her, he was worrying them, he should say something. He took a few breaths to steady himself.

“The controls are faulty. Bleed Air Leak when I activated the cooldown.” His sentences were short and clipped, his heart was pounding in his ears and the control stick was shaking in his hand. “Engine 2 still overheating, 700 knots-”

The plane shuddered, jumped - a burst of bright light and the afterwash of concussive force knocked the breath out of him - his systems were screeching, screeching, screeching - he clutched the control stick tightly - the world outside was a blur - he couldn’t find gravity he couldn’t find the horizon -

“Lance!”

His plane was screaming. He was screaming. Smoke was filling the cockpit and his entire screen was flickering red errors. He struggled to keep breathing, he was pulling back on the control stick but it was useless by this point. He was running on autopi- _ on autopilot _ \- he laughed but it was a sick kind of laugh because he wanted to puke, he wanted the ride to stop it wasn’t fun anymore. The horizon was gone and the screen in front of him was painted in all the wrong colors and the voice over his com was getting more frantic with each passing moment.

He fumbled for the ejector seat handle at his left, yanked it hard. Multiple snaps came from overhead, he could feel something beneath his seat  _ kick _ and he launched upwards at a speed that stalled his frantic breathing a moment - and then he  _ hit something _ and pain blossomed at the base of his skull and down his spine. The wind whipped at him from the front, the rockets kicked in from below and he was jerked in his seat, head snapping forward, then back rapidly. The pain seared into his head and he saw stars pinpointing the clear blue sky. Smoke was crowding below him, spilling from the broken back of the spiraling jet, but at this speed all he saw was a mass of gray and a tiny pinpoint of fiery orange somewhere before him. The pain pulsed, and the stars in his vision shattered like broken glass.

And then everything went black.

 


	3. Earth Bound Misfit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is far too long, but the only way I could divide it was into an okay length chapter + a super short chapter and that didn't sit well with me. I doubt any of the other chapters will be this long again, but what're you going to do. 
> 
> Also, you may not have noticed but I bumped the chapter count up to 6. The story just has a mind of its own...
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think.
> 
> If you like you can find me at itsdetachable.tumblr.com  
> Feel free to chat if you're up for it, I"m always around.
> 
> P.s. if you feel in the mood for horror check out the fic that made this update late (yes I admit it)  Phantom Limb, the next installment of my Voltron Horror Anthology

_ “...got him loaded…” _

His ears were ringing, piercing and pulsing. The world was a red-filtered blur. Figures moved around…around him… they were close to him. Something was chopping the air with dull steady beats in time with the pulsing in his head. 

“Angels…” he choked out, realizing… he tried to grin but his skin felt taut. His body might've been hurting but he couldn't tell, the pounding in his head was too loud and he couldn’t pay the pain any attention.

_ “Yeah buddy, exactly.” _

A jolt, his body screamed. Black dotted his vision, filled it, and he just barely managed to gasp out, “Took you long enough…” 

Laughter. He was fading and the voices were receding to somewhere he couldn't reach…

_ “I think he's gonna be alright…” _

 

-

 

Fire. Not even a painful fire, but a persistent one, deep in his joints and sprayed across his skin. Pinpoints prickled across his face and down his chest, spread out along his arms and legs. Shifting, Lance felt the weight of his own body come crashing down on him, rooting him to the world again.

He'd been out, he realized. How long? His memories were hazy, his thoughts were moving distressingly slow. Fragments of ideas tottered around inside his head and he struggled to chase them down and piece them together. Something beeped in steady rhythm off to the side. He forced himself to focus on the sound to keep himself from falling back into unconsciousness.

He licked his lips, felt them dry and cracked beneath his tongue. His eyes were open but it was taking a while for his vision to make sense again. Everything was shades of white and gray, all the contours softened by his inability to focus.

The fire in his body wasn't a fire, but pain, dull and deep. It flickered along the edges of his awareness, and he realized slowly that he must have been on heavy painkillers if all he felt was discomfort. He breathed, tried to focus on what he could feel of his body. He was beginning to remember now, the flight - the plane - he had to eject. No wonder he felt like he'd been steamrolled, but he couldn't remember feeling this beat up the first time around.

His face ached, and there was something laying across it, just under his nose. Annoying... His neck felt stiff and tight, like it was swollen. His torso felt odd as well, his shoulders stiff. His arms felt loose and numb, he tried to move his fingers but it took so much energy to just feel them twitch that he gave up after a moment. His legs… His legs felt heavy. No, one leg felt heavy. The left leg. The right leg felt relatively normal, but he could barely make his toes twitch when he tried. He felt weighed down, leaden, his body unresponsive. 

Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he turned his head to look - tried to turn his head to look, but there was something stiff preventing him from doing so. He frowned, but even as he tried to gather the energy to overpower whatever it was keeping his head stationary, a figure appeared above him. 

“Lance, you awake?”

The face above him was a blur, though the voice was familiar, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus.

“Hey.” He croaked, grinning up at Shiro. Shiro was a good guy, and his face was nice to wake up to after being rocketed out of a burning jet fighter. 

“How do you feel?” Shiro asked, grinning, but his voice soft with concern.

Lance thought on that a moment, eventually landing on, “Heavy.”

Shiro chuckled.

“Does anything hurt?” 

“N...Not really.” Lance could feel the aching discomfort, but it was nothing like pain just yet. His arms were tingling slightly, just below the elbows, and he tried again to move them. His attempt was about as successful as the one before, and he groaned. “Feels like...like I'm stuck in… In like gum or something…”

It made sense in his head. It made Shiro chuckle. 

“I’m not surprised.” He said, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder. The weight of it was comfortable.

“How…how long…?” Lance asked, wincing at the sound of his voice. His throat was dry and constricted from disuse and he sounded like he'd gargled with gravel.

“Two and a half days, just about.” Shiro said. “The doctors wanted you to wake up on your own.”

“...too long…” Lance groaned. Shiro grinned, but Lance could see now it was a tired grin. He wondered how long Shiro had been there - the thought was uncomfortable and comforting at the same time. He didn’t deserve to have Shiro sitting at his side for the gods knew how long. Shiro had more important things to be doing than waiting for him to wake up. Really, no one needed to waste their time like that...

...someone was patting his head, brushing the hair off his forehead, and for a moment he thought it was Nico… Nico had a gentle touch like that, he’d pat his head… when he’d skinned his knee and sat crying on the curb Nico had sat down next to him and ruffled his hair and grinned as he’d said everything would be all right…

...but this wasn’t Nico, he remembered. His eyes flickered back open - he hadn’t realized they’d slipped closed - and he looked up, unable to meet Shiro’s eyes because his vision had gone fuzzy once more. He could feel himself slipping away again, consciousness spilling like sand through his fingers, but something was stirring at the back of his mind. Something important. He frowned, gathering his focus and his energy.

“Sh..shiro…” He said, ignoring when the other man tried to shush him, “Shiro listen it… it was the… the engine…”

“Lance, it’s okay-”

“It wasn’t… wasn’t me…”

Shiro’s hand stilled, and for a moment he was silent. Lance tried to keep looking at him but his eyelids were slipping closed again no matter how hard he fought them.

“We know that,” Shiro said softly above him. “It’s all right, okay? Try to rest.”

“...kay…” Weariness was heavy, almost heavier than the weight of his body in the real world, and he was falling away from the pale room and the beeping monitors… 

 

-

 

“Now, squeeze my hands as tightly as you can.”

Lance obliged, gripping Dr. Mirwani’s hands in his own. After a moment the doctor nodded, and Lance let go. He watched as the man wrote something down in his notes, impatiently flexing his fingers as if that would magically make them feel  _ right _ again. The tingling that he'd woken to was still there, pulsing through his arms from below his elbows to his fingers, and his fingers felt numb and clumsy. He waited impatiently for the doctor to speak, feeling somewhat vulnerable as he lay there.

“I am sure you have noticed, but your grip strength is definitively weaker than what we regard as the norm.” Dr. Mirwani said, looking at him. He was an older man, his hair more silver than black and his face lined from the years, but he had a warm, genuine smile and bright eyes that had put Lance at ease from the moment he met him. Still, even the doctor’s excellent bedside manner couldn’t quiet the nervous uneasiness that was rippling inside of him.

“Yeah, I… I can't really feel my fingers.” Lance admitted quietly, pulling his arms in closer to himself, as if that would somehow keep that nervous energy inside from spreading. He'd spent the morning getting a CT scan done, a process that had taken way too long and sapped him of any energy he’d gained from a full night’s. After a restless nap he'd been woken up for an evaluation with Dr. Mirwani. He felt drained, but worse than that he was  _ worried _ . Anxious. He'd thought the tingling in his arms would go away once he was fully awake, but it had persisted, and the numb, clumsy feeling in his hands had grown all the more apparent. And now…

“This is not uncommon with cervical fractures. In your case, several bone fragments have shifted, and these are putting pressure on your spinal column.” 

Lance might've made a small noise at that - the doctor gave him a reassuring grin.

“Okay that sounds...bad.” Lance said, his voice sounding small even to himself. 

“It is fixable, Mr. McClain.” The doctor said. His tone was even and soothing. “It may take a while, but it is treatable. The chances for a full recovery are very good.”

“Okay….  _ Okay _ …” Lance said, breathing deeply and trying to believe it. His head was beginning to spin from it all, he was getting nauseous just thinking about everything that was wrong with him. His legs, his ribs, his arms… “So what...what’re the options?” 

“We will have to operate in order to remove that wayward bone fragment and repair the damaged discs.” Dr. Mirwani explained. He must’ve noticed that Lance was starting to get woozy, as he adjusted both his tone and the speed at which he spoke, his words now coming slowly and steadily. “We will have to insert a graft to join the discs together, and then attach a metal support to keep them stable during healing. “

Lance winced at the mental imagery. He wanted to rub his face but he didn't have the energy to lift his hands. He barely had the energy to process what he was hearing.

“Recovery from the operation is generally very quick, although the fusion process will take longer. The bone will need time to grow and fuse properly. This is especially important in your case, Mr. McClain, if you want to return to flying.”

“How long are we looking at?” Lance asked, defeated already and knowing he wouldn't be happy with the answer.

“Eight to ten months, possibly a year.” Dr. Mirwani said, and Lance could sense that the look on his sympathy on the man’s face was genuine. “Physical therapy and exercise will assist in the healing process, however while we can somewhat speed up bone growth, there's only so much we can do.”

Lance nodded, it was all he could do with the energy he had left in him. His gaze fell to his hands where they lay in his lap, and he couldn’t help but glare at them. They were broken. He was broken. He’d lose a year to this, a year when he could’ve been flying, could’ve been part of something, a year he’d have to fight tooth and nail again to make up for...a year…

Dr. Mirwani leaned towards him, and Lance looked up instinctively, meeting the doctor’s eyes. 

“We will get you back there, Mr. McClain. That I promise.” Dr. Mirwani spoke with such sincerity and cool resolution that, despite the unease choking his chest and the despair edging into his mind, Lance found himself believing him.

 

-

 

“Hey Lance!”

Hunk’s cheerful voice could cure all the diseases in the world, Lance was sure of it, if they could only find a way to bottle it and distill it into a concentrate.

“Hey Hunk!” He rasped out, grinning happily. He’d missed Hunk something terrible, especially in those quiet hours where he couldn’t sleep but the hospital was silent and there was absolutely nothing at all to do. At least they’d let him sit up after the evaluation - it was kind of embarrassing just how excited he'd gotten at the prospect. Thanks to that he had a perfect view of Hunk as he entered, and his grin only got bigger when he saw Hunk wasn't alone. “Pidge, you came too!”

“I wanted to make sure you weren't dead.” Pidge said, eyeing him critically as she approached. “You don't look dead. Good.”

“She’s being extra abrasive today to make up for the crying before,” Hunk whispered somewhat loudly as he leaned over to give Lance a gentle hug.

“I did NOT cry,” Pidge gasped indignantly, glaring at Hunk. She turned to Lance and reiterated in a cool and controlled tone, “I did not. I mean, I might've. A little. Which is a perfectly normal and human response to that sort of situation.”

Lance’s throat was beginning to hurt from holding in his laughter so he let it out, and Hunk chucked himself. Still, even if Pidge was trying to deny it he could tell she'd been worried; her hug lasted longer than Hunk’s, and her hand lingered a bit over his heartbeat as if she was still trying to confirm he was alive.

“Perfectly normal and human,” Lance confirmed for her, “Which you are. Human. Right? Have we confirmed that?”

Pidge gave him a dirty look but refrained from smacking him, though her hand twitched slightly. 

“It sounds like someone's feeling better.” Hunk said with a chuckle as he pulled two chairs over for himself and Pidge. 

“Yeah well, they finally let me sit up today so that helped.” Lance said. To be completely honest, he still felt terribly tired, wasted. They’d cut back his pain medication during the day, and the pain that had been only a dull ache before was now becoming far more prevalent. It made it difficult to get much rest during the day, and the more time he spent awake the more the monotony of the hospital room grated on his nerves. Seeing his friends helped him feel better though, a breath of fresh air among the stagnating hospital atmosphere.

“How are you holding up?” Hunk asked, brow furrowing in concern.

“Okay.” Lance replied with a shrug. That had been a bad idea, the movement aggravated the ache in his neck and back and made him wince. “Kind of achey.”

“Only kind of…” Pidge repeated dryly, “Did they tell you your injuries?”

Hunk looked slightly disturbed by how bluntly she asked, but Lance grinned. 

“Nothing too bad,” He said as airily as he could manage, belying the twinge of anxiety just thinking about what was wrong brought out. Stamping it down, he continued, “Sprained both my ankles, my left leg’s broken. Bruised some ribs.” Hunk was already wincing, and Lance wasn't even done yet. “Sprained my left wrist too, but it’s not really that bad, it barely hurts, and uh… there’s a couple of cervical fractures…”

“Ugh.” Pidge breathed, and though her tone was light, the concern in her eyes was obvious.“Are they bad?”

“They sound bad…” Hunk breathed, showing his worry plainly. Lance tried to give him a reassuring grin as he hesitated on the response - he didn’t like seeing his friends worried. He didn’t like the way Hunk looked like he was going to cry from just knowing that much - even though pretty much  _ everything _ made Hunk cry, including tiny puppies and kittens in cute hats. Lance didn’t want to be the reason for it, though. He didn’t want to make any of them feel any worse than they already did.

Dr. Mirwani’s words echoed in his ears  - _ eight to ten months, possibly a year _ \- and he swallowed thickly. 

“They did a… a CT scan? Yeah a CT scan this morning.” He said, and hurried onwards, convincing himself that  _ omitting _ was not the same as  _ lying _ . “Confirmed there are fractures, but I think they said they scheduled an MRI tomorrow so… I’ll probably find out then, you know. How bad. What they’re going to do about it.”

“You’ll tell us, right?” Hunk asked, prodding fitfully at the blanket covering Lance’s legs. He was a tactile person, hugs and pats on the back and comforting touches, and he looked exceptionally distraught at that moment, no doubt wanting to touch Lance - pat his leg or  _ something _ , but too worried about hurting him to do it.

“Of course I will.” Lance said, grinning at his friend. Hunk looked slightly reassured by that, and Lance added, with a look at Pidge, “Besides, if I don’t tell you I’m sure someone would be more than happy to hack into the hospital records to find out.”

“It wouldn’t even be a challenge.” Pidge responded with a cheeky grin. She eyed him a moment, then her grin softened a bit. Reaching out a hand, she brushed his hair back from his forehead and patted his cheek. It was such a  _ familiar _ thing to do, and such a rare instance of affection from the most abrasive of his friends, that it called up a burst of irrational emotion within him. 

“You’re looking worn out, my man,” Pidge said, “Do you want us to let you get back to your rest?”

“No,” Lance said so hurriedly his voice cracked. She wasn’t wrong - he did feel supremely tired - but he didn’t want to be alone. The silence in the room, the lack of anything at all other than the pale walls and ceiling and the flitting nurses, hours of being too tired to sleep, it was all just too much on him. He was going to go stir-crazy before he left the hospital, he knew it - but not right then. The burst of energy he’d gotten when Hunk and Pidge first entered the room might have been fading, but he wasn’t ready to go back to the monotony of being alone in the room, only the beeping of the heart monitor for company. He reached up to grab Pidge’s hand weakly, “Stay a little longer. Talk to me. About anything.”

“Well, all right,” Pidge said, sounding amused. She thought a moment, turned to Hunk.

“Oh, oh I know - the Major gave us some new techs to show around the base, now that the BR program is grounded,” Hunk said, and laughed. “You should see them Lance, they’re like kids or something. Ah, they’re so young…”

“They’re straight out of school!” Pidge laughed, her tone mocking. “They know absolutely nothing! It’s hilarious!”

“They know stuff Pidge,” Hunk said sternly, giving her a sharp look. “They just don’t have the working knowledge yet… Just give them some time.”

“Pfft, right,” Pidge rolled her eyes. 

Lance rested his head back against his pillow, listening to them bicker. He didn’t have the energy to join in the conversation, but just being able to hear them and see them was more than enough to raise his spirits, more than enough to make him feel comfortable for the first time that day. Nothing was wrong, everything was fine. Pidge’s hand still rested in his, a warm and very real reminder that he wasn’t alone, and he grinned to himself, his eyes slipping closed as he listened to their voices.

 

-

 

There were several things Lance absolutely hated about being in the hospital: the constant beeping of the machines, the monotony of the room, the fact that he was on a limited diet that consisted of absolutely nothing that tasted like actual food - but possibly the worst was the fact that  _ he could not go to the bathroom yet _ . As in,  _ the physical bathroom _ .

He’d spent so much time the past few days wishing for selective amnesia to wipe away those memories that he thought it was close to coming true.  _ It had to be _ . He wasn’t sure he could live the rest of his life with that sort of embarrassment lurking in his memory banks, ready to strike at the most inopportune moment. 

The whole… ordeal… was slightly better now that he was in a hospital room and not the ICU. The ICU felt open and revealing, but here he could at least have the nurse close the door and pretend that no one knew what was going on inside. 

Still, every time he had the terrible feeling that  _ this _ was the time that someone would walk in unannounced and he’d be left to wallow in the shame of them…  _ seeing _ . Thankfully, it hadn’t happened yet, although the latest visitor was definitely cutting it close. The nurse was just helping Lance sit back up when they arrived, hovering by the door the nurse had opened up only moments before. It was a double surprise - it was already past seven and visiting hours were only until eight, and the second surprise was because it was  _ Keith _ , standing in the doorway, still dressed in his uniform and eyeing the nurse as if he thought she was going to kick him out. It had been days since Lance had first woken up and he’d had been wondering if Keith would even show, and now that he saw that he had he couldn’t suppress the warmth that blossomed within his chest. 

“You can come on in,” The nurse called to him, grinning at Lance as she left his side and heading for the doorway. “But visiting hours are only until eight, just so you know.”

“Thank you,” Keith said, looking only a tad less stressed than a moment before. He headed in, and a relieved grin spread across his face as he met Lance’s eyes.

“I thought you weren’t going to show up.” Lance said, his throat scratchy and voice hoarse. Keith grimaced, pulling a chair closer to his bed and sitting down. His eyes flickered over the machines across the bed from him before settling on Lance’s face. 

“I don’t like hospitals.” He muttered morosely, and Lance chuckled. He knew that, which was what made it all the more meaningful that Keith had showed up at all.

“Good timing,” Lance said, trying to shift so he could see Keith better. The collar was getting to be a serious pain and he couldn’t wait until he could get around without it. “Like, ten minutes earlier would have been seriously awkward.”

Keith must’ve noticed Lance trying to shift to see him, as he moved his chair over slightly so that he was more visible. 

“How’re you feeling?” Keith asked, laying his arms on the bed’s hand rail.

“Peachy.” Lance said, and it wasn’t a lie. He was semi-floating on a cushion of pain meds and he was absolutely fine right then. Keith eyed him closely a moment.

“Is that… a bandage on your neck?” He asked, leaning towards Lance a bit. Lance’s grin faded, and he was suddenly very interested in the edge of his blanket.

“Uh, yeah. That is.” Lance said casually, and pointed at his neck awkwardly. “That is a bandage.”

He peeked over at Keith to find him looking absolutely and utterly confused. 

“Why do you have a bandage on your neck?” Keith asked, and now he was beginning to look worried too. Lance couldn’t tell if he was just really good at reading him that day or if Keith was being exceptionally expressive, but he was picking up on his expressions awfully quick.

“Okay, so…” Lance continued fidgeting with the edge of his blanket, avoiding Keith’s eyes. He felt oddly energized and at the same time loopy and disoriented, which was no doubt why he was being slightly less serious about the conversation than he might’ve been otherwise. Who was he kidding, he was horrible at serious conversations and there was no reason to expect he’d be serious about this even if he wasn’t hopped up on pain meds and floaty. Clearing his throat, he explained, “So they had to do a… a cervical fusion? Yeah. They had to do that. On a couple of my cervical vertebrae. That were fractured. To fix them and the whole spinal cord thing.”

“What?” Keith’s incredulous reply was just shy of a shout, and his hands gripped the hand rails of Lance’s bed. “You had an operation?”

“Yes.” Lance said warily, eyeing the dark-haired man who was now on his feet and looking at him with a look that might’ve been concern but was also very much anger. 

“When?” Keith’s hands were clutching the rails so tight his knuckles were white. Lance eyed him worriedly. Keith’s outbursts weren’t exactly as plentiful as they used to be when they were younger, and he was a bit worried about Keith having one in the middle of a hospital. Keith didn’t like hospitals.

“This morning?” Lance supplied with a sheepish grin, hoping to somehow defuse the situation, “I only woke up like a couple of hours ago…”

“Pidge and Hunk didn’t say anything yesterday.” Keith said, accusatory and maybe really a bit angry then. His dark eyes were fiery, his brows furrowed. It wasn’t a  bad look on him, that angry-worried look, Lance decided. 

“I might not have told them about it.” Lance said solemnly. After a moment he amended his statement, “I’m certain I didn’t tell them about it.”

“Why…” Keith’s voice broke. He took a deep breath and seemed to be trying get a handle on himself. He sat down finally, his fists loosening their death grip on the rail, and gave Lance a concerned look. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry?” Lance said with a sheepish grin. He didn’t think there was really a way to explain it - he just… didn’t. He didn’t tell them. He could have, and maybe he should have, but he didn’t.

“You idiot…” Keith ran a hand through his hair, then ran it down his face. “You’re supposed to tell us these things…”

Maybe he should’ve told them, in hindsight. Would they be mad? Lance wondered… Hunk would be furious probably, he’d probably cry he’d be so mad. Lance could practically hear him -  _ You said you’d tell us! _ \- and Hunk didn’t deserve that. None of them deserved that. Lance bit his lip, so very suddenly disappointed in himself. He cursed under his breath, the blanket bunching in his still useless, tingly-numb fingers.

“Hey…” Keith spoke softly, but Lance didn’t look at him. He was far too focused on the cloud of self-disgust that was beginning to wake up inside of him; he’d almost forgotten it was there, things had been going so well lately…

“Lance, look at me.” Keith tried again, voice still soft, and when Lance still refused to look at him, he reached out a hand and grabbed one of Lance’s. It was warm around Lance’s fingers, the touch was soothing, and Lance found himself relaxing his grip on the blanket and allowing Keith to pull his right hand away. He still refused to look at Keith, but that only lasted a short moment - he could feel the other man’s eyes on him and he turned his gaze to meet them.

“That’s better,” Keith said, a slight grin on his face. His gaze was soft, it was that look that he saved only for Lance, the one that set his heart aflutter and  _ did things _ to him. It didn’t fail then either, Lance found himself grinning back despite the fact that a moment earlier he’d been fighting against plummeting self-worth, the dark mood peeling away from him.

“Whatever…” He breathed, curling his fingers around Keith’s hand. He was happy Keith was there, he was  _ so _ happy Keith was there. He thought he might even be happy that Keith was there when he was still under the influence of heavy meds because he was certain he wouldn’t have let Keith hold his hand like this if he was thinking rationally and clearly. He wouldn’t have let Keith keep looking at him like that, with that intimate look in his eyes and that soft grin on his face and that comfortable body language that just screamed  _ I’m so happy to be here with you right now _ and Lance was certain he was reading too much into things because he’d never been that good at reading Keith, ever, and he doubted that had magically changed. It had to be the meds.

“So, I…” Keith started, hesitated, his eyes flickering away from Lance. Maybe he felt the atmosphere too, maybe...

Was Lance seeing things, or was there a faint blush across his cheeks? 

“What?” Lance asked, amused and curious. Keith ran his thumb across the back of Lance’s hand, then looked back at him finally.

“I brought you something.” He said simply.

“What, a present?” Lance asked in mock surprise, “For me? From  _ you _ ?”

“You’re saying that like I’ve never given you anything before…” Keith muttered, but he didn’t look irritated in the least. He pulled his hand out of Lance’s and reached into the pocket of his sandy toned camouflage jacket, and Lance watched with great interest as Keith pulled something out and, after only a moment’s hesitation, held it out for Lance to see.

Lance never would have expected it -  _ it _ being a macrame bracelet, with several different shades of blues knotted in a chevron pattern along its length. Lance’s heart fluttered again, and it took several breaths before he was able to move, to reach out to touch a finger to it. The knotwork was clumsy, the edges of the chevrons crooked, but it didn’t matter because - and he knew it without needing to be told -  _ Keith made it _ and  _ he made it for him _ . 

“It… it’s not my first time ejecting, you know,” Lance said with a grin, joking and trying to keep the welling emotions inside where they belonged and not let them reach his eyes. 

“Well, I didn’t think you were going to make a habit of it.” Keith responded with a smirk, but it looked a bit shaky.

Lance laughed at that, and held out his right arm to Keith. Gently, Keith tied the bracelet around his wrist. Lance waited for him to finish, then held up his hand to his face so he could see it better. He’d never have expected Keith to make something like this for him; Keith had often mentioned, off-hand and in random conversation, that he’d never been good at creative things, at making things. But now he had, and Lance could plainly see the effort that had been put into the intricate design. 

“It’s gorgeous.” He said, dropping his hand back to the bed and looking over at Keith. Maybe he was still just slightly loopy from the pain meds, or maybe he was just loopy because Keith was there, but he felt absolutely  _ glorious _ right then.

“It’s not.” Keith said, rolling his eyes, but he looked pleased. Lance reached out to grab hold of his hand again, and Keith smiled. “I’m glad you like it anyway.”

“I like anything you make,” Lance blurted out, the mix of high flying emotions and pain med haze obviously not working in his favor. Keith snorted, holding back the chuckles that threatened to well up out of him.

“They’ve got you on some pretty heavy meds, don’t they?” He said, his voice still bubbling with uncontained laughter. Lance frowned at that.

“You know what, you’re mean.” Lance retorted. “I don’t think I want you here anymore.”

“Yeah, well, you’re in luck,” Keith said dryly. “Visiting hours are up, and I need to leave anyways.”

“Wait…” Lance’s frown deepened. “What? No.”

“Uh, yeah.” Keith squeezed his hand gently. He glanced over at the clock on the wall. “It’s literally eight on the dot. I gotta go before they kick me out, and you need to get some rest.”

Lance gripped Keith’s hand tighter, determined not to let him leave just yet. Keith was still able to pull his hand out of Lance’s grasp, though the grin he’d been wearing faded as he did. He looked serious again as he stood up, his dark eyes darker and his face solemn. 

“Thanks, for coming,” Lance said, sighing somewhat forlornly, but he still managed a grin for Keith as he continued, “And hey, if you don’t… I mean if you’re not up to it, you don’t have to come back. I mean, obviously you can but I know you don’t like hospitals like… at all, so…”

A grim look of determination came to Keith’s face, his mouth settling into a firm line, and he said almost fiercely, “I’ll visit you again.”

“Keith, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” Keith said, cutting off Lance’s attempts at arguing. Fixing him with a hard look, he added, “Get your rest, and don’t worry about anything else.”

“Yeah…” Lance muttered. 

“I’ll see you later, then,” Keith’s tone softened somewhat at that, and he reached out a hand again - but this time he hesitated a moment before settling on patting Lance’s arm somewhat awkwardly. 

“See ya, Keith,” Lance said, already missing the warmth of Keith’s hand in his. Keith gave him one last grin, and headed out. Watching him go, Lance felt like the warmth inside him went with him, leaving an odd and hollow place somewhere behind his ribcage. Sighing morosely, his eyes dropped to his arms, and caught on the blue bracelet. Gently, he touched it, spun it around on his wrist, and though that hollow still ached he felt soothed all the same.

 

-

 

Physical therapy had sounded like fun when the doctor mentioned it - not fun as in “this is exciting” but fun as in “I'm not stuck in the same four walls staring at soap reruns for ten hours a day”. For the first day, however, he  _ was _ stuck in the same four walls - the physical therapist came to him. She was tall, with skin a couple shades darker than Lance’s own, her dark hair styled in a short bob, and strongly built, with shoulders that Lance suspected were broader than his, and honestly just a little intimidating. That is, she was until she smiled, a shy gentle smile that lit up her amber colored eyes and instantly gave her away as a soft-hearted sweetheart.

“Hello Mr. McClain,” She said in a voice almost as soft as her shy smile. “My name is Shay, and I will be your physical therapist during your stay here.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Shay,” Lance responded with his classic crooked grin. “You can just call me Lance. Or Mr. Shay, whatever works for you.”

Shay giggled at that, an adorable sound, and sat down in the chair next to his bed.

“I think I’ll stick with Lance,” She said said, amused and apparently unperturbed. Lance liked her already. “Now, let’s get started on some exercises… I’m going to massage your hands first, you probably haven’t been using them much these past few day and that will help them get warmed up.”

Shay’s hands were warm, her touch was firm yet gentle as she worked on Lance’s left hand first. He’d never thought of hand massages in any context but he had to admit there was something extremely nice about them. 

“So, do you get to touch people a lot, then?” Lance asked as she switched to his right hand. “That… was an odd question.”

Shay giggled again, but responded, “It’s my job, Lance.”

“Well, obviously.” He said with a shrug, because the only other thing he had in mind to say was horribly inappropriate and even he had boundaries.

“This is pretty,” Shay said, repositioning the blue-chevron bracelet around Lance’s right wrist that had shifted during the massage.

“Uh, thanks,” Lance grinned, and a tiny swell of emotion welled up in his chest as he looked at it. “My… my friend gave it to me when he visited.”

“A get well present?” Shay asked, laying his hand back on the bed.

“Yeah, something like that.” Lance replied, touching the bracelet himself. He still couldn’t believe Keith had given it to him, made it for him.

“That was very nice of him.” Shay said, smiling.

“Yeah, it was weird.” Lance laughed at Shay’s confused expression. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all…”

“A nice surprise, then.”

They moved to stretches and hand exercises after that, Shay showing him how each was done, and Lance found himself feeling absolutely stupid doing them. They were so simple he almost couldn’t believe they would help in any way. One of the exercises was just him holding his hands flat out in front of him, palms facing upwards, and squeezing his fingers together horizontally without bunching them up. Another was touching his thumb tip to each of his fingers in turn, holding for several seconds before moving on to the next. 

When Shay told him the next exercise was literally just him making a fist and relaxing out of it, he couldn’t help but shoot her the most unimpressed look he could manage.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious!” Shay looked amused. “I know it doesn’t seem like it is doing anything, but every one of these exercises will help you heal.”

She handed him a stress ball next, bright yellow with a widely grinning smiley face, and directed him to squeeze it as tightly as he could for ten seconds at a time. That was possibly the worst - not because it was tedious, but because he could actually tell just how weak his grip was. He shouldn’t have had a problem squeezing the stuffing out of the stress ball, but he was at most making a shallow dent in it with each try. Frowning, brows furrowed, he forced his hand tighter around the stupid, yellow, smiley faced ball.

“Lance?” Shay ventured. Lance ignored her in favor of focusing on squeezing Mr. Smiley’s brains out of his stupid yellow head. Unfortunately, he was halted in his attempt by Shay grabbing his hand and gently prying the stress ball out of his fingers. He breathed out deeply, disappointed, curling his fingers in the blanket in absence of the ball.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Shay said soothingly, and he looked to see her giving him a sympathetic look. 

“It’s just… I can’t… I can’t do it.” Lance groaned. “How am I supposed to fly a plane if I can’t even squeeze a stress ball?”

“Well, Lance, you’re not flying a plane now.” Shay looked directly at him, radiating calming vibes, but they failed to reach past the surface of his skin. “You’re in a hospital recovering from severe trauma.”

“I know…”

“Listen, I know it’s incredibly frustrating.” Shay lay a comforting hand on his arm. “But all of these little steps that seem so inconsequential right now, they all pave the way to a full recovery. It might feel hopeless, and what you want might seem so very out of reach right now, but you will get there. Step by step, you’ll make it.”

Great, Lance thought, now his hospital stay was beginning to sound like a Lifetime movie, doctors and therapists spewing uplifting phrases left and right. 

“Yeah.” He answered unenthusiastically.

“Just do not push yourself too hard, too soon. I don’t want you hurting yourself because of it.” She said sternly, patting his arm encouragingly. “Now, let’s try this again… Oh, it looks like you have a visitor.”

Lance looked towards the doorway to find Hunk standing there, looking slightly perturbed.

“Oh no, am I interrupting something?” He asked with an uneasy grin. 

“Not at all, you may come in if you’d like.” Shay said cheerily, and Hunk’s grin grew wider.

“This is Shay, my physical therapist,” Lance said as Hunk walked inside the room. “Shay, this is my best buddy, Hunk.”

“It’s nice to meet you Hunk.” Shay smiled at Hunk, her eyes bright.

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you too… Shay?” Hunk said, only slightly awkward as he sat down in a chair next to Lance’s bed, fiddling with his gloves. Oh, Lance knew  _ that _ look, those fleeting glances he was shooting Shay’s way, that awkward smile. He should do something about that... 

“Yeah, so Shay’s been showing me how to squeeze balls properly.” Lance said, grinning wickedly, any hint of shame flying right out the window when faced with the chance to be entertained. He wasn’t disappointed - Hunk’s jaw dropped, and the panicked look that blossomed on his face absolutely priceless.

Shay, to her credit, giggled at that horrible and blatant innuendo, and Lance glanced at her with amused surprise. He never would have guessed shy-smile Shay would’ve laughed at  _ that. _

“ _ Dude _ .” Hunk hissed in disapproval, eyes flickering to Shay and back, his eyes screaming: there’s a  _ lady _ present. 

Lance snickered, and couldn’t stop himself from adding,

“Maybe if you ask nice, she’ll show you how to squeeze balls too.”

Shay giggled so hard she  _ snorted _ , and Hunk deflated in his chair, eyes rolling heavenwards.

“I could’ve been having a Luciano’s BLT right now…” He muttered morosely, raising his hands in a silent plea to whatever gods still existed to come down and rescue him. Lance was laughing by that point, so hard his throat was starting to hurt, and Shay had only managed to control her laughter by plastering a hand over her mouth.

“I think we’re done for today. I’m going to leave this with you,” She said, humor still evident in her voice, and handed Lance the smiley-faced stress ball.

“I don’t share my balls, Hunk, you’re going to have to get your own.” He said, holding it up for Hunk to see. Hunk groaned.

“And don’t forget to do those exercises later as well.” Shay said as she got up, “I’ll be back tomorrow around the same time.”

“Don’t miss me too much.” Lance said with a wink. Shay grinned, that shy grin she’d had when she’d first come in, and headed towards the door. “It was nice to meet you, Hunk.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too.” Hunk replied, tone strained and face flushed with both his and Lance’s share of embarrassment. As soon as Shay was out the door he turned back to Lance, utter horror painted on his face, “What was that?”

“What?” Lance feigned innocence, rolling the yellow smiley ball across the blankets.

“She looks like a nice person and you… you…”

“She  _ is _ a nice person.”

“Ugh, Lance, why do you do these things?” Hunk groaned, defeated and apparently not expecting Lance to admit to doing anything wrong.

“I don’t see what the problem was,” Lance said, tossing the ball at Hunk. His throw was weak, but it still managed to hit Hunk on the face. “She was laughing.”

“Sometimes,” Hunk said, holding up a finger, “Sometimes, laughter is an involuntary stress reaction to an uncomfortable situation.”  
Lance raised an eyebrow.

“And also, I am not picking that up.” Hunk said, crossing his arms. The stress ball had disappeared somewhere beneath the hospital bed.

“Fine, be that way.” Lance said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “What’re you doing here anyways? Don’t you have techies to be showing around?”

“Are you trying to be cold and insinuate that you don’t want me here?” Hunk asked, tone carefully aloof. “Or are you actually asking because you’re interested?”

“Both.” Lance said, in a tone as equally aloof as Hunk’s.

“Well, then I have to tell you that yes I do have techies to show around but I, being the great and awesome best friend that I am, have sacrificed my lunch in favor of visiting you and boosting your spirits.” Hunk responded, actually managing to dial up the aloofness. 

Lance raised an eyebrow, and responded with a chill, “Well, you failed.” 

“That’s a lie,” Hunk said matter-of-factly, “You seemed pretty entertained to me.”

Lance remembered the look on Hunk’s face, and his cool facade cracked as he grinned, “Ha, your face! That was priceless.”

“That was embarrassing, is what it was.” Hunk groaned, dropping the aloof tone and slumping in his chair. After a moment he grinned, and added, “She really laughed at it, though, didn’t’ she? Good sport...”

“She’s pretty cool.” Lance said. He’d already decided that Shay was his kind of people. He eyed Hunk a moment, grin growing on his face, and added nonchalantly,  “You know, if you come around this time tomorrow you might run into her again.”

“Ah…w-why would I...” Hunk straightened up, shooting Lance an uncertain look. “No, don’t look at me like that Lance.”

“Oh stop it,” Lance rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who was giving ‘looks’ when you first walked in. She’s totally your type.”

Hunk mulled that over in silence for a while, and Lance, becoming impatient by the lack of dialogue, added, “Besides, I need the entertainment.”

“That,” Hunk said, shaking a finger at him, “Is not helping to convince me.”

Lance rolled his eyes, knowing better.   
  


  
-

It was early evening when Major Allura showed up at Lance’s room. He was worn out and achey, in a horrible mood after a near-liquid dinner that tasted about as good as sour milk, and in the middle of muttering obscenities at the TV screen - what station played Days of Our Lives reruns at seven at night? - when a knock at his door caught his attention. 

“Oh, Major,” He straightened up, caught absolutely off guard. Horribly self conscious all of a sudden, he tugged the blanket on his lap further up his chest and hoped he didn’t look as crappy as he felt.

“May I come in?” Allura asked, smiling. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, several silvery strands having come free at the sides, and she was still dressed in her uniform.

“Of course.” Lance said, unable to keep from feeling absolutely uncomfortable with the situation. It was one thing to have his friends visiting him in the hospital, and something completely different to have his commanding officer visit. Especially while he was still dressed in a hospital gown and hadn’t had a shower in over a week. Lance didn’t really trust those hospital wipes to actually do anything useful, and he felt dirty and gross in spite of them.

“It’s good to see you doing better,” Allura said, stepping in to stand by his bed, her tone cheerful. “You had us quite a bit worried.”

Not Allura too. Lance bit his lip, unsure of how to respond, but thankfully the Major was actually prepared for this conversation. 

“I stopped by because I wanted to discuss your options for when you’re released from the hospital.” Allura said, straight to the point.

Lance looked at her blankly, realizing that he hadn’t even spared a thought about what he was going to do once he was released - he couldn’t stay in the hospital forever, after all, and he couldn’t go back to work at the garrison until his body had healed. Very suddenly, he found anxiety screaming through his veins, shuddering his joints as he struggled to process the fact that he had no idea what he was going to do. What was he going to do.

“No need to panic, Lance.” Allura said, smiling at him like a benevolent goddess. 

“Oh no, no I’m not panicking.” Lance assured her, grinning as best he could. Allura looked skeptical, but didn’t comment on it any further.

“I’ve spoken to your doctor and I understand your recovery will… take some time.” Allura said, skirting the issue of that time carefully, “It would be best if you were nearby the hospital, at least at first, so you can have an easier time attending your therapy sessions.”

“That makes sense,” Lance said, but he couldn’t see where Allura was going with that thought. “I mean, I expected that I wouldn’t be able to go back to the garrison, but where…”

“The garrison apartment complex is nearby.” Allura supplied.

“Oh, I… totally forgot about that.” Lance admitted with a laugh, and Allura laughed.

“You’d be surprised how many do.” She said, “It’s generally reserved for the families of personnel, however there are rooms set aside for cases like yours. I’ve put in a reservation for a ground level apartment for you… that is, if you want to stay in the area. If there’s somewhere else you’d like to go for the first few months of recovery…”

Her voice trailed off. Lance knew what she meant by that, she meant  _ go home _ , but he ignored that suggestion with practiced ease, grinning as he responded, 

“That apartment sounds great, I’m glad I can stay nearby.”

Allura smiled at that, though he could see that flicker in her eyes that hinted at concern. 

“Of course. I’ll make sure it is ready for you.” Allura said. After a moment she added, “I must say, it’s been quite a bit quieter around the garrison without you.”

“Good quiet or bad quiet?” Lance asked, quirking an eyebrow and grinning.

Allura made a show of considering before answering, “A little of both.”

And that hit Lance in the solar plexus, just the thought that the Major even considered it to be a bad thing to not have Lance around, being a general nuisance and getting into everyone’s business as he usually did. 

“I must be going, unfortunately,” Allura said with a small sigh. She looked tired, now that he looked at her. “Have a good night.”

“Uh yeah, you too.” Lance responded, and watched as she left the room. The shock of having her appear so suddenly was wearing off, and that achey weariness returned.

It had been a long day, and he’d barely had any chance to nap. Yet somehow despite the bone-heavy tiredness creeping up on him he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He should be feeling relieved that he’d be staying close by the garrison, but the truth was that he was only just coming to terms with the fact that he would be out of commission for a very long time. Being moved to an off-garrison apartment was as big an indicator as anything - they couldn’t have him around getting in the way, not with his injuries, not with his estimated recovery time. 

The knowledge was daunting, it was honestly terrifying. How was he going to spend months away from the garrison? How was he going to survive almost a year without flying? 

How could he be sure he was even going to fly again, ever?

The thought that the might never recover enough to fly again sent chills through him, made his stomach churn. He had to fly,  _ he had to fly _ , it was all he had and he wouldn’t let it be taken from him. 

He breathed deeply, let his eyes close as he rested his head back against his pillow. All it was was survival, and he’d survived before. All it was was hard work, and he was no stranger to that. And Shay’s gentle voice was in his head, reminding him that  _ small steps pave the way to full recovery _ . Small steps, one step at a time. He could do that.


End file.
